My Beautiful Rescue
by watermelyn
Summary: Seamus is broken in more ways than one, and Dean doesn't know how to help him. Dean/Seamus, some Blaise/Padma, possible others. Warnings and extra stuff in the first chapter.
1. Lucky

**Hey. So I've been working on this for a while. The idea was rolling around in my head but I never knew quite how to start it then BAM. Inspiration. **

**Originally it was written all together, no chapters but separated by lines. I decided to divide each little section into a chapter so it would be easier to read. That makes it so some chapters are quite long and the other are short-almost drabbles really. **

**This is post-DH and DH compliant, so there are spoilers if anyone hasn't read it yet (though I don't know why you wouldn't have). Slash, angst, fluff, everything in between. Also I haven't finished it yet so there might be sex scenes coming up but I'll be sure to say so so you can skip it if you want. There isn't anything bad now, a bit of language.**

**Enjoy. Please review, and if you see any mistakes in the grammar (as I've said before, my tenses aren't the best because english isn't my first language) and the canon, tell me. **

**xox, Karolyn**

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Everyone was affected by the war. In different ways, that's understood, but every single person in Britain was touched in one way or another by the return and subsequent rise of You-Know-Who. Be it wizard or muggle, Irish or Welsh, Hufflepuff or Slytherin, everyone was influenced. Some were damaged beyond repair, others only slightly stirred, but no one was spared. Not a single person. The war wasn't something you could run away from, though Godric knows how many attempted to. And failed.

Dean tried. He nearly succeeded, too—he was on the run for over four months, hiding in old barns and deserted woods. He tries not to think about that period of his life too much. It feels like it was in another lifetime, a completely different existence, but Dean knows that it wasn't that long ago—less than three years. He is grateful now that he wakes up every morning knowing that it probably won't be his last. He is lucky to be alive.

'Shay, I'm going to class. Do I need to call Lavender or are you okay?' Dean says over a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs Seamus made. Dean studies art at a muggle university. He loves it, though the campus is halfway across London and he worries about leaving Seamus on his own.

'I'm fine, mate. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself,' says Seamus, faking irritation.

'Grown man, ha! You're only 19. You can barely do your own laundry,' Dean says, smiling and pushing his empty plate away. It was true; Seamus had never had to clean his clothes before moving in with Dean. Shay rolls his eyes.

'Aye, whatever. I'm 19 and a half.' He picks up their plates and drops them in the sink to wash later as Dean puts on his thin winter coat. It's cold for October and Seamus said just yesterday that he could taste snow in the air, whatever that means.

'Try to get out of the flat, yeah?' Dean says before stepping into the corridor. Maybe Seamus was right; when he reaches the busy street he can definitely taste and smell winter. It has a particular scent, he thinks, and he recognizes it underneath the dirty perfume of the city.

Dean is okay; he's moved on with his life since the war. But for Seamus, it's not the same. Seamus didn't escape with only memories and a few scars. No, to him, it's much worse. He has good days and bad, like any other person, but his bad days aren't like everyone else. He goes through bouts of memory loss and often has horrible panic attacks. He is always distant and nervous to the point of not being able to leave the flat, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He is an artist, not a Healer. He can't give Seamus the help he needs, and they both know it.

Today has been a good day for Seamus so far. A good week, really. He got dressed this morning, in jeans and a comfortable jumper Ron's mum made him ages ago. He was smiling and cracking jokes. If Dean didn't know better, he's say there was nothing wrong with his best mate.

He apparates to the campus with a smile on his face; maybe if Seamus is still okay later they could go out to eat. To a real restaurant, too, not just Lavender's flat or Neville's.


	2. Pieces of Me

They don't. When Dean arrives at the flat after his last class, he finds Seamus on the floor in his room, hunched over as if he is in excruciating pain and crying. Dean drops his bag at the door and runs to his friend's side. He embraces Seamus tightly, desperately trying to stop the shaking, rocking him back and forth and back and forth and 'Shh, it's going to be okay, Shay, I'm here, shh…' But the tears keep falling and Seamus is taking big gulps as if he has trouble breathing and Dean tries to calm him down but it doesn't work; it never works. Seamus is sobbing into Dean's shoulder and is saying something; someone's name maybe. Dean can't make sense of it though; it is all garbled and muffled. He doesn't know what to do or how to make Seamus feel better so he does the only thing he can: he holds him tighter still, hoping Seamus will soon be alright. Before, Dean would have been completely uncomfortable with seeing a man cry like this, holding on for dear life and sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. Dean has gotten over it now and he just wants Seamus to be okay, more than anything.

Dean gets Seamus to his feet and they slowly make their way to the bed. Seamus crawls shakily under the covers trying not to let go of Dean, who has no choice but to go under the sheets too. He doesn't mind though because Shay is not okay right now and who else is going to comfort him?

'Shh, what's wrong, Shay? Tell me what's wrong,' Dean whispers. Seamus takes deep breaths—one, two, three, four—trying to calm down.

'Y-you were—' breath '—gone and L-Lavender…' A new wave overtakes him. Dean rubs slow circles on his back, still whispering into his ear.

'Go to sleep, it's okay. I'm here. I'm always going to be here,' murmurs Dean as he wipes away salty tears from Seamus' red face. Later, much later, Seamus falls asleep, still hopelessly clinging to Dean. It is still relatively early though and Dean is hungry, but he doesn't dare move in case Shay wakes up again. It's like taking care of a child, he thinks, a very unstable child. Soon, Dean falls asleep too, in an odd dream-filled sleep—a blond girl and a werewolf descending upon her, a tiny leprechaun soaring through a deep blue sky, cool lemonade on a hot summer's day, freckles—though he won't remember the images in the morning.


	3. Out of my Head

Dean wakes up the next morning to a face. A boy-ish, freckled, handsome face, with deep green eyes and fair hair tumbling in them. It takes Dean a few seconds to realize that these eyes are staring back at him and that they belong to Seamus.

'Good morning,' Shay says, blinking. His eyelids are puffy and there are dark circles around his eyes, something Dean didn't notice at first.

'Is it?' he whispers. He doesn't know how Seamus is this morning; he doesn't even know if his friend remembers what happened at all.

'I don't know.' They are still in a close embrace, their faces only inches apart. 'What happened last night, Dean? What did I do?'

This isn't good.

'Forget about it.'

A sharp intake of breath.

_Wrong choice of words. Idiot._

'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't… don't listen to me.' Dean says awkwardly. So Seamus can't remember. It's not the first time, but each incident hurts him more and more. Dean knows that Shay is falling apart, breaking into hundreds of pieces that he'll never be able to put together again completely.

'I'm empty. Last night doesn't exist. My brain is blank.' The blond boy bites his lip, searching for something in Dean's deep brown eyes. Answers, maybe? They aren't there. Dean doesn't know where to look for them. Maybe there are none.

'I don't know what to tell you.' He never knows what to tell him. 'Let's go have breakfast.'

_Idiot._


	4. Falling On

It's not as if Dean doesn't _want_ to help Seamus. He wants to, so badly it's hurting him physically, emotionally and academically. He can't concentrate anymore; he can only think of Seamus and what is he going to be like when I get home? Is he going to be there at all, or will he be gone to Lavender's again? Or somewhere else? Is he going to be okay? Am I going to be okay? No, that doesn't matter, Seamus is more important.

But Dean has always been better with a quill than with words and he's always expressed himself with a paintbrush rather than speech. He's not cut out for this. He's trying, but what can he do other than brew Seamus a cuppa and tell him it's going to be alright? It's not. They both know it. Maybe Dean would be better off bringing Shay to St Mungo's; surely they have Healers there who will know what to do. How will he bring it up without offending Seamus, though? He _is_ a grown man, and a Gryffindor at that. He still has his pride, hopefully. Is it too late? This has been happening for nearly two years, and it's only getting worse as time wears on.

No. It can't be too late. He has to save Seamus from himself, and if that means getting help elsewhere, then so be it.

Dean resolves to tell Shay of his plan tonight at supper.


	5. Hope for the Hopeless

When he arrives at their small flat later that evening, there is a surprise waiting for him. He hears deep voices emanating from the living room, voices he hasn't heard in months. Harry and Ron are sitting stiffly on the couch when Dean walks into view, and they seem to be asking questions to Seamus who is curled up on the big armchair opposite them.

'What's going on here?' Dean looks at Seamus, who is shaking again. Shay looks up at him, pain and tears in his eyes. Are Harry and Ron hurting him?

'We're just asking questions about… well. We're trying to find and convict the Carrows,' says Ron gruffly. He is in professional dress robes, something Dean has never seen before.

The Carrows. Dean understands now, why Seamus is hurting. They've never spoken about it, but Dean has an idea of what Seamus went through during that year, mostly from Neville and Luna.

'We're speaking to everybody who was at Hogwarts three years ago. Everyone we can find, anyway. It's been hard. Lots of people don't want to talk about it. They're still afraid,' Harry says, absentmindedly rubbing his famous scar. Dean moves to Seamus and sits on the arm of the chair, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. Ron looks quickly from Dean to Seamus, eyes widening.

'I can understand why,' whispers Seamus. His voice is rough and trembling. 'I don't… remember everything… but… whips and spells and—' shudder.

_Whips? Oh. So that's why he's so self-conscious about his body now._

'—and Lavender and Neville and Colin and I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, don't make me do it, I'm so sorry, PLEASE NO!' His voice raises an octave in his distress and he breaks down again, crying for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, this time in front of their old school mates. Ron closes his eyes. Harry takes a deep breath, looking steadily at the bawling Seamus. Dean climbs down from the side of the chair and presses Seamus to his chest. Shay doesn't resist.

'Please go,' Dean says, and Ron and Harry leave without another word. Dean rocks Shay again, as if he were a baby.

'Shh, I'm here.'

'Are you sure?' Seamus looks at Dean, frightened.

_He's losing grip on reality._

'Yes.'

'Do you promise?'

'Seamus, I'm right here, right now.'

'Oh, I was so afraid you weren't,' Seamus says softly, desperately. He buries his face in Dean's neck, inhaling deeply, as if to make sure that Dean isn't lying. After a few slow minutes, Dean pulls back slightly to look at Seamus. He sees that his friend is scared. He doesn't know what's happening any more than Dean does, and it's only getting worse with time.

'Shay, I…' He gathers his all his Gryffindor courage. Maybe Dean shouldn't say this now, while Seamus is in such a weakened state, but he has to or it will never come out. 'I think that you need help.' Seamus nods miserably and nestles into Dean once more.

'I'm bringing you to St Mungo's tomorrow.'

Seamus says nothing.

_Godric only knows what he'll say tomorrow._


	6. Breakable

'You have to get up.'

'Seamus, get up.'

'Get out of bed.'

'Our appointment is in an hour.'

It's one of those mornings. Dean had flooed St Mungo's last night after Seamus went to bed, making an appointment with a Healer with a fancy title, something about magical psychology and mental disorders. He didn't catch the name of the doctor—_sorry, Healer_—but the secretary promised he was the best in London and probably the best in England.

'Please, Shay. I'll make pancakes.' Dean throws a pillow at Seamus' head, which raises groggily.

'Pancakes, you say?' He rubs his eyes. 'With chocolate chips?'

So he was just being stubborn. Being Seamus.

'Yes, whatever you want. Now get up and get dressed. And shower. Though maybe not in that order.'

An hour later, they are in a pristine white office in St Mungo's awaiting the Healer. Seamus is fidgeting nervously in his chair, shaking and perpetually playing with his hands. Dean looks around at the walls, which are mostly bare but for a few well-placed, dull paintings and a few moving pictures. He doesn't recognize the people in them, and he wonders if he knows this Healer and if he's just grown and changed. It's possible; Dean hasn't seen many people from Hogwarts since the war. It's painful for him too and there are things he'd rather forget.

Dean hears the loud crack of apparition and suddenly there is a man, almost as tall as he is, standing in front of them in muggle clothes: khaki dress pants and an argyle sweater. He looks young, about their age, and Dean thinks he may have seen the dark, handsome face before. He wasn't a Gryffindor, that's certain, or Hufflepuff—Dean had dated Hannah Abbott the spring of fifth year and he knew practically everybody from the house. They were a very tight knit group. Maybe the Healer had been in Ravenclaw or—

'Hello. I'm Blaise. Blaise Zabini.'

Slytherin, then. Dean vaguely remembers the man, knows that he wasn't a Death Eater's son but just pureblooded, and rich. That's about all Dean knows about him, but right now he trusts him because he needs to, for Seamus' sake.

'Dean Thomas.' He stands up to shake Zabini's hand.

'Seamus Finnigan.' Shay doesn't do the same as Dean; instead he pulls his legs to his chest and stares at the Healer with a look Dean doesn't quite know how to describe. Fear, maybe? Embarrassment? Zabini sits down at his desk and folds his hands in front of him.

'Gryffindor, right? Same year as me?' Dean nods. 'Right, well. What brings you two here?' Zabini sounds more laid-back than his office suggests, and Dean is grateful for the relaxed tone. He's not sure Seamus could have handled someone who was here to cure illnesses and not to cure people.

'Well, it's hard to explain,' says Dean, looking at Seamus. He doesn't know what to say. Again.

'Is it? I would have thought it was easy. The thing is, I'm going mental.' Seamus was always quite straightforward and Dean admired him for it during their school years. Zabini leans forward, interested.

'How?' he says.

'I see things that aren't there and people that are dead.'

'Go on.' He pulls out a notebook and a quill, waving his wand towards them so the quill starts writing on its own. It seems to ink itself.

'I forget a lot. Not things like picking up some milk or flooing my mam, either. Things that have happened—like the night before last. I… I don't remember. It's like it never happened.'

Dean knows it happened. The other hundred nights like it did too.

The quill is scribbling furiously.

'I shake all the time.' He holds up his trembling hand. 'I get so nervous I can't leave the flat. Those days Lavender Brown usually comes to stay with me because Dean has to go to his classes, and Godric knows what I'll do to myself if I'm alone.'

'What do you mean?' Zabini says, a calculating look on his face.

'That's just it—I don't know what I'd do. That's why I'm afraid to be by myself.'

Zabini nods and Dean stares at Seamus, trying to show support his mate through eyes only. He's not sure if it's working because Shay is looking at his fidgeting feet. His mouth seems to have stopped functioning properly. Seamus has never actually spoken to him about these things before and Dean felt that if Shay wanted to tell him, he would. He never wanted to force him to say something he wasn't ready to say, and so right now Dean is surprised and quite frankly, a little frightened. Would Seamus really hurt himself? He doesn't want to find out.

'And I get nightmares, too. Those are the worst.'

'You do?' Dean says sharply. He never knew that, either, not even after two years of living together.

'Yeah. I never want to wake you up so I put Silencing Charms on myself. I don't want you to hear me scream even from your room.' Dean breathes deeply. In and out. In and out.

'You know you can wake me up. I won't mind.'

'No, you need your sleep. These nightmares, they're… they're my problem.'

Dean shakes his head. 'Your problems are my problems.'

'You don't understand. These dreams aren't normal. They aren't even dreams, more like visions of the past.' Zabini nods slowly and closes his eyes. He knows what it was like that year, even if he probably wasn't on the receiving end of any of the Carrows' curses.

Dean saves his arguments against Seamus for later. It isn't the time and place to get into a fight.

'Anything else?' says Zabini quietly. Seamus shakes his head. 'This is what we're going to do. We're going to make another appointment, as soon as possible, to go more in-depth with these things. Then later, we'll run some tests, see if there's spell damage there or just psychological.'

'_Just_,' Dean says. Zabini looks at him apologetically.

'Yes, well, it can always be worse.'

Seamus stands up slowly and shakes the tall Healer's hand.

'Thanks, Zabini,' he says.

'Please, call me Blaise. How about Thursday at three, are you free?' Both men nod. Dean can skip his class. Blaise looks at them both, appraisingly. He was probably only speaking to Seamus, but Dean won't let his best mate come here alone. Shay needs the support, and what if he breaks apart while here? Dean needs to come with him.

They leave the hospital after goodbyes and thank yous, heading out into a deserted old street. Dean puts his arm around Shay's shoulders comfortably as they start walking, not bothering to apparate. Dean sees that Shay is antsy and could use a walk outside.

'Want to go out for supper?' Seamus nods.

'Thanks, Dean,' he says quietly, looking up at his friend who is so much taller than he is. Dean says nothing, just keeps walking. He hopes with all his heart that Shay is right to thank him and that he hasn't made a big mistake.


	7. Remembering Sunday

'Hey, Dean?'

The two men are sitting on their threadbare couch (a studying artist doesn't make much money, even with help from his parents), watching the telly Dean's mum gave them last Christmas. It is a football game, though it's not Dean's team and so he isn't very interested. He's just watching for something to pass the time until they go to St Mungo's again. It'll be Shay's third appointment with Blaise.

'Hm?'

'Do you remember the summer you came to Ireland with me and we put dungbombs in Duncan Inglebee's rubbish bin outside because he'd called me a leprechaun?'

'Vaguely. Didn't you retaliate by calling him a 'facking little poofer with ears like an enormous bottomless pit and baby-diarrhea eyes?'

'You make it sound so bad. He had it coming to him, I mean Jesus Murphy, he'd tattled to my mam about us drinking her firewhiskey by Old Clarey's lake.' Dean chuckles.

'Oh, you mean the time we were so wasted we went skinny dipping in the lake and he stole our clothes?'

'I don't recall going skinny dipping, but I do remember getting drunk.'

Dean shifts nervously. He remembers _vividly_.

'How old were we, 15?'

'Yeah, it was the summer my mam didn't want me to go back to school.' Seamus shakes his head. The fights he'd had with his parents were brutal.

'Hard to believe it was only four years ago. So much has happened since then.' They lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

'Say, remember the Yule Ball?'

'Oh yes. You went with Lavender and I went with Susan Bones. Fred and George had spiked the punch.'

Seamus laughs. He remembers that, and when Professor McGonagall took a sip and instantly deduced what had happened. The twins had had a month's worth of detentions to do.

'Shay… Do you remember the night after the Yule Ball?'

'Ah…' He thinks. 'Not really, no. I reckon I'd had a bit too much punch.'

'Oh.'

'Why?' Seamus looks questioningly at Dean, his green eyes alight.

'No reason. Oh! We're going to be late! Let's go.'


	8. On Your Side

Another week has passed. Healer Zabini has done all kinds of tests on Seamus, from IQ to memory, even physical tests like running and such. Shay complains and says that he feels like a guinea pig or a dummy and not a real person, though the people at St Mungo's are nice and sympathetic for the most part. He's been there six times, and each time Dean has accompanied him and watched his best friend be analysed and experimented on like a lab rat. It hurts more and more each time, knowing that he wasn't enough to help Seamus.

Shay isn't better though. Not yet, anyway. They still haven't found out why he's losing his memory (it happened once more; Dean had been painting Seamus when his eyes had lost their focus and he couldn't remember where he was and what he was doing) and he still has horrible nightmares. The Healers are doing everything they can, but so far Seamus is a mystery.

Today they are at the hospital once more. Seamus is with a young french Healer named Dorothée Bourgeois who will run some memory tests and Dean is waiting for him in Blaise's bare and impersonal office. He isn't alone; Zabini is there with him, at his desk writing something with an oversized blue quill. Dean looks at the quill, stares at its graceful movement. He is zoned out completely when Blaise suddenly says 'Dean, I've been meaning to ask you some things' loudly. Dean shakes himself out of his rêverie.

'Huh? Okay…' Blaise sets down his quill and leans back, looking thoughtfully at the handsome black man sitting across from him.

'First of all, I need you to answer, no matter how personal it is. Okay?'

Dean shifts uncomfortably.

'Is this about Seamus?' Technically, Dean isn't Blaise's patient, but if it's going to help Shay he'll answer any question the Slytherin asks him.

Blaise hesitates. 'Ah, yes.'

Dean nods at Blaise to go on.

'Do you love him?'

'Of course!' They've been the best of friends since they were 11. He may never say it aloud, but he knows it's the truth.

'What is Seamus to you?' Now there's a harder question. And one he hasn't dared ask himself since the war ended and they moved in together. He is a friend, above all else. An anchor (though it should probably be opposite, with Dean as the rock and not the other way around). He is _home_.

'He is… Shay. He is my mate, my constant.' That sounds horribly cliché, but it's true. Blaise understands; Dean can tell by the way that he nods slowly.

'What are you to Seamus?' Dean takes a few seconds to mull this over.

'His friend, I suppose.'

'What were you to Seamus? And what was he to you, before the war?'

Dean closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. He hasn't let himself think about this in ages. This side of his past is strictly forbidden in his mind.

'More,' he whispers, voice trembling. Blaise nods again, accepting this completely. 'I don't know if he remembers either. I don't want to bring it up.'

'Why not?'

'Do you have someone special? A wife, a girlfriend, a boyfriend?' Blaise ducks his head, the name _Padma_ forming on his lips. 'What if one day she came home totally broken, like Shay is now, and you wouldn't know why? What if she never mentioned that you two had ever been together before, only ever touched you in a platonic way, never said 'I love you' or kissed you again? That would hurt, right? He acts like he's forgotten, but I can't be sure. Maybe it's just too painful for him to say.' Blaise shudders. Dean takes a deep breath.

'I can't help but feel that I'm the reason Seamus is hurt now,' he says quietly, looking down at his strong hands. He wishes someone were holding them right now to make admitting this less difficult. He's never said it to anyone before.

'Why?' asks Blaise, startled.

'I think that when I ran away from school, that's when Shay broke.' Blaise doesn't say anything else and eventually Dean gets up and leaves the office, not being able to bear the coldness of it any longer. It's tainted with the taste of his confession now.

He waits for Seamus in the lobby of the hospital, surrounded by men and women with strange problems and illnesses. There is a man who cannot stop hiccoughing, a woman with an extra nose on her forehead and an old man who seems to be asleep, red and yellow birds floating around his head like in children's cartoons. Dean looks at them, somewhat bitter. At least their afflictions are physical and concrete; they are easily recognized and solutions can be found. But there are others in the waiting room, ones that just sit there quietly, fear emanating from them or their eyes blank but for tears. Their maladies are harder to detect. They are like Seamus: fine on the outside but horribly destroyed on the inside. When Shay walks into the room, no one would be able to tell that there is anything wrong. In fact, on first glance, even Dean thinks that he is okay right now. But on closer look, he notices that his eyes are hollow and there are wrinkles on his forehead where before there were none, and then Dean sees that everything isn't rainbows and butterflies and that Seamus hasn't had a good day.

They apparate to the flat in silence and make their way to their respective rooms without saying a word. Dean wishes that Shay would come with him like Before, just to cuddle and sleep. He wishes that Seamus would tell him what's on his mind at the moment and why he's on the brink of tears again. He won't though, and Dean knows it, yet still he longs for the past as he slips into his cold bed waiting for sleep to find him. It does so quickly, and that night he doesn't dream at all; only tosses and turns and hugs his pillow tightly to his chest, pretending. It's better than nothing.


	9. Almost Lover

The next morning he is awoken by Seamus jumping on his bed like a child, yelling 'Happy birthday! Happy birthday!' loudly in his ear. He groans and slowly opens his eyes to see Shay's happy face peering at him closely, waiting for him to wake fully.

_Bloody hell, is it already November 2__nd__? I'd totally forgotten._

'Ugh, Shay. Shh.' It's too early to be forming proper sentences. Dean rubs his eyes and yawns.

'Sorry,' Seamus whispers. 'You're 20 today! I didn't get you anything because I'm sort of broke but I thought we could go out for dinner at a nice fancy place, maybe ask Lav and Parvati to join us. It'll be like a sort of double date, except not really because none of us are together, ha. What do you think?'

'What time is it?' Dean's voice is rough from a bad night's sleep and Shay's quick whispering is already making him dizzy.

'8:30.'

'Then I think I should go back to sleep.' Dean nestles into his pillows and closes his eyes again, only for them to fly open once more when he feels Seamus crawling underneath the covers and pressing himself to his friend comfortably. Visions of the past assault his mind; suddenly it is like three years ago again, when everything was perfect and they were whole. They were completely happy then, and Dean wonders why Seamus has decided to cuddle up to him now. The past is over, right? Unless for Seamus, this isn't in his past at all, it is only in his present. Dean thinks his thoughts might not make sense at the moment and decides against saying anything to Seamus. He'll take this gift as it is and not ask questions; who knows when Shay will be like this again? So he puts his arm tightly around Seamus and breathes in his scent, eyes closing and lips curling contentedly in sleep.

* * *

'Good morning,' Dean hears a distant whisper. He shakes himself awake, realizing that Shay is here with him in his small bed. This revelation makes him so incredibly happy and gives him a pleasant, tingly warmth in his stomach.

'This is going to be a great birthday,' he says, mostly to himself. Seamus sits up and looks at Dean, cocking his head and flashing him his trademark Irish grin. His freckles are particularly pronounced this morning, and Dean's fingers itch to sketch him just like old times.

Seamus glances at the watch on his arm and murmurs 'A quarter after eleven.' Dean laughs as Shay jumps out of bed excitedly.

'Hey, we could go to an art gallery today if you want!' he exclaims, clearly more excited for Dean's birthday than Dean is himself.

'Why so hyper?' Dean asks, chuckling and sitting up.

'I don't know. I just feel great. Well, I have a little headache, but that's okay. Come on, get dressed!' Shay skips girlishly out of the room to his own (clad only in green boxer shorts, Dean notices appreciatively), presumably to follow his own instructions. Dean chortles; this child-like, excitable Seamus doesn't often make an appearance and Dean doesn't want to waste it. They've always balanced each other out perfectly—Dean the quiet, thoughtful artist and Shay the loud and flirtatious child. Dean has always loved Seamus for just this: his ability to lighten up anybody's mood by simply _being_. Everybody always loved him at school and he could always cheer up even the gloomiest of people.

He gets dressed quickly in a comfortable black turtleneck and relaxed jeans, walking out to their small kitchen to see Seamus already sitting with the Daily Prophet, a quill between his teeth and some cereal. Dean makes coffee for them; two sugars and one milk for himself and black for Shay ('I like my coffee how I like my men: strong and black,' he used to say with a wink). He sits down across from the Irishman, just smiling and taking in this beautiful sight, one he hasn't seen in so long.

'Reading the Prophet? I thought you'd given up on that shite,' he says. Seamus flips his page around, showing it to Dean: it's the crossword. Dean laughs.

'What's an eight letter word for 'Celestina Classic'? Ugh, I always hated her.'

Dean thinks.

'Uh, Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love? Cauldron?'

'Perfect!' Seamus scribbles furiously and then sets the paper down.

'We danced to that song at your cousin's wedding in Ireland when we were 16,' Dean says, grinning. Seamus looks at him oddly.

'Did we? Huh.' Dean's smile fades slightly as he gets up to put his coat on. Shay does the same.

'So what's the plan today?' Dean asks.

The day is wonderful. They visit a few of Dean's favourite art galleries, they eat a delicious lunch at a quaint little café and they walk through downtown London, joking and laughing all day long. If Dean closes his eyes he can just imagine that they are 17 again and completely carefree. If he ignores the lost looks Shay gets sometimes when Dean mentions a particular moment in their past, he can pretend everything is fine. It is the best birthday he's had in ages, really. Instead of going out with Parvati and Lavender for supper, they decide to stay in. They make pizza and watch awful cheesy muggle movies Shay picked out on their VHS player. Seamus is as talkative and excitable as he's ever been, and as usual Dean mostly just laughs and nods, but they don't mind, not one bit.

Dean loves it. It is as if they are a normal couple again, as if this isn't After and Now but Before. Every colour seems brighter in his happiness, every touch softer, every single laugh from Seamus is clearer and more beautiful. They sit on the small couch, not quite cuddling up but with arms touching and hands brushing teasingly and Dean feels like a giddy, hormonal teenager all over again.

Eventually Seamus falls asleep on Dean's shoulder, a grin on his face. Dean looks at the watch he'd gotten for his 17th birthday—it is two in the morning. He turns the telly off with a quick flick of his wand and carries the too light Seamus to his room. He brings him to his bed and lays him gently on the scarlet comforter, careful not to disturb him too much. Shay's eyes blink open sleepily and he smiles up at Dean's face, a real genuine smile that Dean thinks he could never get enough of. Seamus puts his hand on Dean's dark cheek, caressing it with his thumb while Dean tries to ignore the feeling that has ignited at the touch. This is too much for him; it is the cherry on top of a perfect day. Dean can barely stop himself from hungrily capturing Shay's pink lips with his own.

It turns out he doesn't have to stop himself. Seamus pulls Dean's head down tenderly and kisses him softly and sweetly. Dean had nearly forgotten how good it tastes and how wonderful it feels, but now he remembers and somehow, this is better than Before; the sensations are stronger and sharper. Maybe it's because of everything they've been through since Before, but right now it doesn't really matter because Shay is finally kissing him again and Godric knows how long he's waited for this like a good boy. It's been three years almost to the day, and _Merlin_ this feels so good right now. They don't deepen the kiss, they leave it like it is: a promise for later.

'Happy birthday, Dean,' Seamus whispers against full lips, then pulls back to crawl under the covers of Dean's bed. He waits until Dean does the same to fall asleep, clinging to his side. For the second time today, Dean falls asleep with _his_ Seamus, the real Seamus, and not the one who is shattered and hurt. For the second time today, Dean falls asleep truly happy.


	10. Bad Romance

It seems much too soon when odd movements awake Dean in his bed. It can't be morning already, it feels like they just fell asleep minutes ago. He is still partly asleep when he grapples his wand on his bedside table and whispers _lumos_. He shines the light on his watch. It is two thirty. Barely half an hour has passed since Seamus kissed him, and at that thought he smiles and tries to settle himself back into his warm sheets. He is almost asleep again when he hears something that chills him to the bone—a deep and rough moan from Seamus. A moan of pain. Dean quickly sits up and turns to Seamus who is still beside him, now curled up with his hands on his head and shaking. Dean tries to wrap his arms around him but Shay pushes him away. Dean realizes that the Irishman is slick with a cold sweat, and that he is shivering.

'W-what's wrong?' Seamus only moans in answer, rocking back and forth. 'Shay! Tell me what's going on!' Dean doesn't know what to do.

'My head,' Shay takes a trembling breath, 'it hurts.' Dean embraces Seamus firmly, not letting him get away. He tries to envelop Shay, cocoon him with his warmth. He whispers in his ear—_you'll be okay, we'll go to the hospital in the morning—_when Seamus screams in excruciating pain, a bloodcurdling shriek that shakes Dean to the core. It is reminiscent of Hermione's wails when Bellatrix was torturing her; he's never forgotten the sound. The noises coming from Seamus don't seem quite human, and the tighter Dean holds him, the louder they get. Dean has to do something and something includes frantically apparating to St Mungo's.

When they arrive, Dean is holding Seamus in his arms like a baby, desperately yelling for someone to help. The lobby is empty but for a thick-looking reception witch and a young girl sitting in the corner of the room, scratching herself everywhere.

'Help, he's ill!' Dean screams at the witch behind the desk. She looks around stupidly, as if hoping someone will appear and help them. Obviously, no one does. 'Floo someone!' The witch quickly runs out of the room, clearly frightened and confused.

_She must be new._

Dean realises that even though Seamus is light, his legs are shaking and threatening to give out. He walks to a rickety chair and sits down, never once letting go of the trembling man in his arms. Dean lays his hand on Seamus' glistening forehead. It is much too hot. Shay is still moaning about his head and Dean can only imagine what it feels like. Mere minutes pass, but it feels as though time has all but stopped. Not soon enough a severe-looking Healer arrives and flicks her wand at Seamus, lightening him enough so that Dean can carry the convulsing body in his arms up to the fourth floor. The stern witch points him to a door and it flies open without any incantation or wand, showing a large ward with filled beds and empty ones. Dean runs to one of those with all he has left and drops Seamus onto one before his legs give out and he crumples to the floor. Shay is all but passed out and his breathing is shallow. Dean shakily gets up to see that his friend's eyes are fluttering shut and with one last moan of pain they close completely.

'What's wrong with him?' says the elderly witch dryly. A clipboard and quill have appeared and she is taking notes, presumably describing Seamus' condition. At the moment he is tossing and turning, crying out unconsciously. Dean nearly starts crying but he knows he must stay strong, however much it hurts to see the man who kissed him an hour ago so helpless.

'I don't know. He said his head hurts.' His breathing is heavy like he's just run ten kilometres and his hands and legs are shaking uncontrollably.

'I'll give him something for the pain, but until we know what caused his headache I can't do anything else. I'm going to get the correct potion, and in the meantime you should pull up a chair and calm down.' She waves her wand and a chair comes sliding from the shadows by one of the other patients' bed; Dean sits down gratefully. The witch waddles to a cupboard across the ward and Dean finds Seamus' clammy hand and grips it tightly.

'I'm right here, Shay, I won't leave you,' he whispers to the unconscious man, bringing the hand he's holding to his lips and kissing it lightly. When the witch returns (Healer Cassilda Edderton, her nametag says) she tips a spoonful of awful-looking green potion into Seamus' mouth neatly and quickly. She wipes the spoon on her apron and turns to Dean, eyeing their hands with raised eyebrows. Dean can't quite read her expression, but he doesn't spend too much time focusing on it, instead choosing to stare hopelessly at Seamus.

'Humph. Did anything trigger this headache?' The clipboard appears again.

'Nothing I saw, and I've been with him all day.' Dean shivers at the thought of their perfect kiss. 'Can you get me Healer Blaise Zabini? He works somewhere on this floor, though I reckon he's at home now.'

'I'll try. But I can't promise he'll be here before tomorrow morning.' Healer Edderton walks stiffly to the door, forcibly reminding Dean of Professor McGonagall.

The moans subside leaving Seamus drenched in a cold sweat and rolling around on the minuscule and seemingly uncomfortable hospital bed. Dean watches as an hour then another ticks by excruciatingly slowly on his old and battered gold watch, hoping more than anything that Seamus' fever will break by dawn. He never once stops gripping Shay's cold and twitching hand, occasionally squeezing it and waiting for a squeeze in return.

When it is nearly five am and Dean's been fighting back exhaustion for hours, a flustered Blaise runs in, breathing heavily.

'I came as soon as I could, I'm sorry, I wasn't in town and _oh!_' Blaise has spotted Seamus on the bed. 'What's wrong?' He frantically feels Shay's forehead and another clipboard appears out of nowhere.

'I don't know. He had a headache but he said it wasn't bad. Turns out it was.'

'What happened? Tell me everything.' Blaise flicks his wand and another chair comes tumbling from another bedside.

'He woke up in the middle of the night screaming. There's not much to tell,' Dean says defeatedly.

'What did he do? Were you with him all day?' He is using the same oversized blue quill he always uses and the swirling feathers are calming for Dean; it is normal and familiar.

'It was my birthday so we went out for lunch then went home and watched some muggle movies.' Dean sighs, remembering. It seems so long ago.

'What did he eat?' Blaise writes something on his board. 'What could have caused this?' he whispers almost to himself.

'I don't know, I wasn't paying attention. Fish and chips? I'm not sure.' Dean shakes his head and Blaise sighs.

'So you have no idea what could have brought this intense and obviously horrible headache on? He's seriously ill, as you can see. Anything you remember can help.'

'The headache started this morning after he woke me up…'

…_then crawled in bed with me._

'Anything else I should know?' Dean thinks about everything they did and how the day ended.

'I don't think so.'

And so they wait for Seamus to wake up and his fever to break. The men are mostly quiet, occasionally trying to make small talk about Dean's family and Padma, but they always lapse into a heavy silence afterwards, listening to Shay's heavy and pained breathing. Sometimes his eyes flicker open but they are unfocused and glazed over, and Blaise and Dean sit at his bedside for long hours.

At one point, Healers start walking in and out and patients wake up noisily, but Dean doesn't really pay attention. Healer Edderton returns and gives Shay some more painkilling potion, but even then he doesn't wake up fully. He mumbles things every once in a while, but Dean and Blaise can't make sense of his garbled and sleepy murmurs.

They have some practically inedible breakfast and as they are chewing painstakingly on rubbery bacon, Blaise gazes at their intertwined hands, looking up to question Dean with his eyes.

'He needs to know I'm here.' Blaise nods; he'd do the same for Padma and Dean knows it.

'How was he yesterday?'

Dean is confused for a few seconds. He hasn't slept and so it feels as if the day never ended and yesterday is still today. He shakes himself.

'Great. Better than he's been in months, actually.' Dean looks at Seamus' face tenderly. 'Blaise, he… he kissed me again,' he whispers so quietly it is barely audible. Dean doesn't know when they crossed the line and Blaise became his friend, but now he feels completely comfortable admitting this to the young Healer.

At first, Blaise smiles genuinely, truly happy for Dean, then an errant and single thought flits through his mind. _What if that triggered the headache?_

'Dean! Why didn't you tell me this before?' Dean is confused by the rough tone of the words.

'Uh… Blimey, I didn't think it was important…' Blaise jumps up and starts pacing around, deep in thought. 'What's wrong?' Dean looks up at him nervously, and then down at Seamus. He squeezes his hand.

'I've been thinking a lot lately about what you told me the other day. How you think that this is your fault. I wonder...' Blaise rubs his face and sighs. 'When did you say the headache started?'

'In the morning. After he came to bed with me...' Dean adds quietly. Blaise stops and looks at him with wide eyes.

'Did you...?' He leaves the question hanging in the air awkwardly.

'No! No, we didn't. We just slept.' Seamus mumbled something about a monkey in his sleep and Dean giggled nervously. 'What are you thinking, Blaise?'

'I don't know yet. My thoughts are just a mess right now.' He sits down heavily with a little huff, burying his head in his hands. Dean wonders why he is getting so affected by Seamus when _he's_ the one who should be freaking out.

'Do you think I was right?' whispers Dean as he stares hopelessly at the Healer.

'It's possible. I'm sorry.'

'If it's true than that could be why he can't remember anything that involves me in his past... Or the things that we did. He said he forgot the time we went, ah, swimming and he, um, kissed me. And he has no memory of the night after the Yule Ball even though he remembers the actual dance.' Dean shudders. What else has Shay forgotten about them?

'What happened the night after the Yule Ball?'

'I try not to think about it. It hurts too much.'

_It didn't hurt at the time though, oh not at all._

Blaise looks at him questioningly but drops the subject, sensing Dean's discomfort. Dean just doesn't like to think of the night when they were so perfectly happy, and how so much has changed since then. Seamus doesn't even remember it anymore.

And so they wait for the fever to break and sit silently as Healers come test Shay's temperature and give him more potion. Dean fights off sleep; he'd never forgive himself if his friend woke up while he was asleep. Blaise nods off at one point (no one is keeping track of time) but Dean doesn't blame him, instead he looks at the peaceful man longingly almost, wishing he could do the same.


	11. While We Wait

A squeeze.

Seamus' hand has squeezed Dean's. Dean looks up with hope-filled eyes and sees Seamus staring back at him. His cheeks are red, his hair is stuck to his head with sweat and there are tears staining his freckled face, but he's awake. Dean's lost count of how many hours it's been. 24? 30?

'Seamus!' Dean bursts out before he can stop himself. Blaise shakes himself awake and gets up without a word, presumably to find a Healer.

'Hi,' Shay says faintly. He is pale and flushed, making his freckles stand out unnaturally. 'What time is it?'

Dean looks at his watch. '6:30 PM. Monday.' Seamus tries to sit up but collapses again, dizzy and flustered. He is still sick, that much is clear to Dean, but his fever has broken and as soon as the Healers get here he'll be on his way back to normal, hopefully. Or as normal as one can be with a condition such as his.

'Jesus Murphy. I was out two days,' the blond man says tiredly. He eyes are fluttering shut again, but Dean doesn't try to keep him awake because he knows that this sleep is natural and that he needs his rest. Blaise comes running back in with Healers Edderton and Bourgeois, the french woman who helped Blaise run some tests before.

'He's okay now, I think.' Dean says, gesturing to Seamus with both his hands now free. Healer Edderton looks at Dean crossly.

'He is sleeping, why did you bring me here?' She rolls hers eyes.

'I thought you could try to find out what happened or…' Blaise began, fidgeting. Dean had never seen him this anxious before; he was normally laid-back and assertive. Cassilda Edderton must be a real dragon.

'That is your area of expertise, I do believe. And Dorothée's,' she says, nodding her head towards the tiny brunette to her left. 'I can do nothing until you tell me what is wrong, and it seems to me that you don't know. Now, I have left some pain potion with Mademoiselle Bourgeois and the patient is to take it as soon as he wakes up or in two hours, whichever comes first. If he begins convulsing, seizing, emitting sparks or doing anything else out of the ordinary, you will come fetch me first. Do not, under any circumstances, cast petrificus totalus on the patient. In the meantime, you will use that brain of yours to try to discover what triggered the headache and if it will occur again. Am I clear or do I need to repeat myself?' All three adults beside her shake their heads vigorously. They would not want to cross this Healer. Edderton turns on her heel and walks away rapidly, muttering things to herself and tapping her wands restlessly on her leg.

'She's a bit like McGonagall, don't you think?' Dean says shakily.

'No kidding.' huffs Blaise, chuckling. He sits down in his chair once more.

'I do not hunderstand da joke,' says Healer Bourgeois with a strange french accent neither man can quite place. Dean suddenly realises how hungry he is, and that he needs to use the loo badly. Deeming it safe to leave Seamus' bedside now, he excuses himself to go find the cafeteria and the bathroom.

The food isn't very good, but it fills him up with something more than just pain and hopelessness, the only things he's felt in two days. It's the first time he's eaten since that disgusting breakfast, was it yesterday? And then he hadn't had much of it, not feeling hunger. He sits quietly and alone in the cafeteria; the tables surrounding him are full of families but they don't know Dean and he knows that their pain or loss is separate from his. He doesn't try to make conversation with anybody, not even to the ladies who ladle some thin vegetable soup into his bowl. When he finishes he gets up in silence, not noticing the very green eyes of a young girl following him intently. After the loo he starts making his way back to the fourth floor, thinking of Seamus and his condition.

Suddenly a girl steps in front of him with her hands on her hips and a small on her face. Dean's sure he's never seen her before; he wouldn't forget her flaming red curls that seem to go on forever and the intense green eyes staring at him with purpose. His fingers itch to sketch this woman—no, she's just a teenager, really—in all her fiery glory, yet he knows he's never met her before. Why has she stopped him, then, and why is she looking up at him as if she knows everything about him?

'You must be Dean Thomas. I'm Bronwyn O'Neil, but you can call me Winnie. Fifth year Gryffindor.' The Weasley look-alike holds out her hand confidently, but pulls back awkwardly when she sees that Dean isn't going to shake it.

'Do I know you…?' he says, terribly confused and quite frankly, frightened.

'Nah, but I know you,' she says brightly with a strong Irish brogue.

_What the hell is going on?_

Dean backs up slightly. 'How?' he says slowly. His instincts are telling him to trust her but his head going against that.

'Seamus told me all about you, of course.'


	12. Wake Up

'So… who are you?' Dean is still very confused. The young girl had followed him to the ward where Seamus is currently sleeping in, chatting excitedly the whole way. Though she has an Irish accent, it is different than Shay's and he couldn't really understand it. Now they are surrounding Seamus' bed, the men tense and the girl fidgety. Seamus is still sleeping peacefully, and Winnie looks at him with wide eyes and a fond smile.

'Winnie, I said. I'm 15, but last time I saw Shay I was 12. We met at school when you were gone. He was always given the job of protecting us little ones because he was really funny and got along well with us. Nev and the others would always go off on their adventures but someone had to take care of us, right? The Carrows were scary and so was Snape, although he turned out to be a good guy or something, and Seamus was always there to defend us if ever they got angry. I was one of the oldest so sometimes I helped him too,' she says all in one breath. Dean stares at her, uncomfortable. She is like a young, female version of Seamus. It is almost scary.

'Oh, I think I remember you. Feisty little thing, eh? I heard about you from the younger Slytherins,' Blaise says, looking at her appraisingly. Despite her being much younger than he is Winnie is almost as tall as he and she looks at him straight in the eyes with a suspicious expression. Dean doesn't blame her for being leery of Blaise; he is a Slytherin after all, and she probably trusts no one of that house after her second year at school. Her fears are unfounded of course, but she is right to be careful. Dean would be too. Winnie is slowly rising in his esteem; she is definitely smart.

'Slytherin?' she says slowly, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. Blaise shifts nervously.

'Yes, well, I am in no way sympathetic to You-Know-Who's cause and never was a Death Eater. Nor was my mother, and various step-fathers.' Dean smiles at the last few words; he'd heard a bit about Maria Zabini's history at school. The redhead beside him relaxes a little, but she doesn't let down her guard. Blaise nods, seeming to admire her for this. 'I'm just a cunning, ambitious bloke.'

'Not humble or modest, though,' Dean says cheekily. Blaise swats his arm, grinning. 'So, were you and Shay… close?' Dean asks, sitting down on the edge of Seamus' bed and motioning towards one of the deep orange chairs in front of him for Winnie.

'I guess. I mean, I was just a little girl but he didn't really have anyone else so we hung out a lot. He… confided in me, I suppose. Told me a lot about himself—and you. Which sounds kind of strange and creepy, I know, but surprisingly, I'm a good listener, though you may not think so because I talk a lot. Seamus had a lot to say, and I was there when no one else was,' Bronwyn says, looking pointedly at Dean. She arranges herself somewhat comfortably on the hard chair. Blaise takes the other.

'What do you mean, no one else was? He wasn't alone among the older students,' the Slytherin says quizzically.

'The others were always off putting some crazy and dangerous scheme into action, you know—Ginny and Neville and Luna. There was Lavender too, of course, and she spent a lot of time with us. But Seamus never told her any of the things he told me. That's stranger I think, considering I was five years younger than he was…' her voice fades away.

'What did he tell you?' Dean asks quietly, as if afraid of the answer. The year he was absent from Seamus' life is a very sore spot for him; it hurts too much to even think about usually. It's not his fault he wasn't there, Blaise has told him over and over again, but he can't really accept that. Winnie raises her emerald eyes to meet his brown ones almost defiantly.

'I don't think I'm allowed to tell you. He told me everything in the strictest of confidence, you know, and I don't think I can break my promise of secrecy without his permission. When is he going to wake up?' she says loudly, gesturing towards the still sleeping Seamus.

'This might be a matter of life and death, dammit!' Blaise exclaims angrily. The young Gryffindor looks at him confusedly; neither man has told her the true nature of Seamus' condition. If they were honest with themselves and Winnie, they'd say it's because they don't know it.

'Besides,' Dean says bitterly, 'he probably doesn't even remember.'

Bronwyn considers this statement, biting her lip and resting her head in her hand. No one says anything. Blaise is still huffing loudly and Dean sits back, finding Seamus' hand once more and squeezing it tightly before letting go.

'No. Let's wait until he wakes up. I'm here for a while anyway, my grandfather has to stay overnight because he accidentally blew off his nose and the Healer said it will take a while for him to recover fully. And I have to stay here with him, since my parents are gone to Majorca on vacation and I'm living at his house.'

Blaise sighs, rolling his eyes and leaning back into the chair crossly.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' the girl asks Dean, who wasn't aware he was looking at her strangely at all. He raises an eyebrow, smirking.

'You remind me so much of Seamus. The Seamus of Before,' he says wistfully. She smiles sadly but before she has a chance to comment (Dean knows she wants to), a cough is heard coming from the bed followed by a feeble 'Dean?'

Blaise jumps up and joins Dean who has moved to the Irishman's side in a flash. Winnie stays back, as if unsure whether she is permitted to be at her old friend'' bedside.

'Seamus,' Dean whispers tenderly. Shay's trembling hand snakes out of his sheets and reaches for Dean's strong black one. 'How are you feeling?'

'Never been better,' the blond man says sarcastically. Blaise offers a weak laugh. 'Nah, my head still hurts a little, but it's nothing compared to before. I'm okay. I feel like an old man, with you all huddled by my sickbed. Hey, is that a Weasley?' He's spotted Winnie's orange mane behind Blaise.

'Not quite,' Dean says, moving a little to make room for the young girl. Seamus' mouth drops open in surprise.

'Winnie?' he asks incredulously. He tries to sit up, but succeeds only when Blaise places a pillow behind his back to help support him.

'Hi,' she says, giving a shaky laugh and waving her fingers. 'Haven't seen you in a while.'

'Jesus Murphy, you've gotten tall,' Seamus says, not sounding ill at all, rather excited and almost happy.

'Puberty, you know,' Winnie says comfortably, running a freckled hand through her hair.

'It happens. I bet you're taller than I am.' Seamus shrugs. Dean and Blaise look at each other, feeling somewhat awkward.

'That's not hard,' Winnie says, snorting.

'No, I suppose not.' Seamus grins up at Dean, who had always teased him for his height. Dean smiles at him for a brief second before looking down at his watch, remembering Healer Edderton's instructions. He's to give Shay some potion now.

'Here, I've got it,' Blaise says before Dean even says anything, passing the bottle containing some nasty-looking green fluid. The artist pours the right amount into the bottle's cap, handing it to Seamus.

'Cheers,' he says. Seamus grimaces but downs the medicine in one swift gulp.

'Bleh, what is that?'

'Painkilling potion or something,' Dean replies apologetically as he intertwines his fingers gently with Shay's. He notices Winnie observing their hands, a knowing smile on her face.

'What did he tell you!' Dean exclaims exasperatedly, gazing at her, torn between irritation at his lack of knowledge and relief and happiness that Seamus seems to be perfectly fine. Bronwyn only chuckles.

'What's going on? Winnie, why are you here? Not that I don't want you here, mind, I'm just wondering since I haven't seen you in three years, you know.'

'Grandda forgot to turn off his self-heating cauldron again.' She shrugs.

'Ah. Ear or finger this time?' Seamus asks this in the same manner one would inquire about the weather: completely casual, as if it is a totally normal question.

'Nose, actually.' Shay nods. Dean is quite uncomfortable right now; he wonders what else Seamus and Bronwyn know about each other and everything else that they did together during that horrible year. A year no one will ever get back. A whole year of time Dean has lost. Blaise, sensing Dean's uneasiness, turns away from Winnie to face Seamus and speaks.

'We want Winnie to tell us what you talked about all those times during the reign of Snape and the Carrows. Unless you want to,' Blaise adds. Seamus breathes in sharply.

_Maybe we should have waited to ask until he's fully recovered,_ Dean thinks but Seamus has already opened his mouth to answer.

'I can't. So let her.'

'What do you mean, you can't?' Winnie asks. Seamus looks at her first, then at Dean. He raises a single fair eyebrow.

'I don't remember a lot of it.'

'Why not?'

'Good question. When I find out, I'll tell you,' Seamus says almost grumpily. 'Well, go for it. Tell them everything.'

'Everything!' Her eyes widen and she gasps incredulously. Blaise looks at her expectantly, picking up his notebook and quill. 'Take a seat. It's going go take a while. Nearly a whole year's worth of memories…'

Dean pulls up a chair next to Seamus' bed and Blaise does the same, as Winnie sits down on the remaining one.

'It's a good thing you like to talk, then,' Seamus says, shifting until he's comfortable in his bed. Winnie sticks out her pink tongue at him childishly before crossing her legs and taking a deep breath.


	13. Angel

'Okay. Okay,' Winnie says, preparing herself. 'Know that I don't remember a lot, since this was three years ago, and Seamus probably didn't tell me everything that happened to him. Shay, if you remember, fill in the blanks or correct me if I'm wrong.' Seamus nods, tightening his grip on Dean's hand. He's bracing himself for the onslaught of memories to come, Dean knows. He just hopes there won't be a repeat of what has been happening these past few months—the crying and shaking and yelling.

'Well, Dean, you don't know what it was like that year at Hogwarts. Healer Zabini does, but you probably have a different perspective on it, being in Slytherin and everything. Sorry, but it's true.' She looks at Blaise apologetically. He only shrugs, knowing it to be true. It's not his fault he was placed in the House with such a bad reputation. 'You know Snape was running the school, and that the Carrows were in charge of discipline. Snape turned out to be a good guy, yeah, but at the time he was our enemy. And when I say 'us' I mean pretty much all of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Professor Snape was the worst headmaster imaginable; he enjoyed bullying everybody but his favourites and created strict rules for no apparent reason. One of them was that there couldn't be groups of students of four or more other than in common rooms, things like that. Seamus told me that he brought back a lot of Umbridge's decrees. Is that what her name is? Anyway, things like that. And of course, if you broke the rule, there were no warnings or things like that, at least not for us. There was the Carrows. They were in charge of punishments. They were the cruelest people imaginable. They had no conscience and no intelligence, a terrible combination, as you can imagine.'

Blaise nods and opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Seamus shudders.

'Anyone who said anything out of turn, who looked at them funny, who smelled bad–they used to say that when you smelled it smelled like mu-mudblood—you got in trouble,' the redhead continued quietly. 'Age didn't matter either; they'd pick on little kids like me who didn't know better. They were racist and they were sexist, the both of them. The punishments they created were, well… I don't like to think about it much. I don't anyone does. Sometimes it was just writing lines, though that wasn't common. Mostly, it was physical and magical beatings, the loss of meals, things like that. Have you ever heard of the muggle Holocaust in the 1940s? The concentration camps? Hogwarts was almost like that, for us. Dean, you can't even imagine. And Seamus was our hero.

You hear all about what Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley did to defeat You-Know-Who, and you know some of the stories concerning what Nev, Ginny and Luna did at school. But you never hear about what Seamus did. Lav too, but mostly Shay. See, when Amycus and Alecto and the other Death Eaters stationed in the school would bully us or insult us, Seamus would always stand up for us. No matter if it was a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, since Slytherins usually didn't need his help. He'd defend us, with words or his wand, and we were so grateful for it. We could always count on him. Well, except during classes, but that couldn't be helped. Seamus was almost like our older brother; all 100 of us, give or take a few. He comforted us when we were sad, fixed us up when we were hurt. You know, he told me once that he'd wanted to become a Healer. He would be a good one.'

Dean looks at Seamus, eyes wide. Dean never knew that about his best mate. The Irishman is squirming uncomfortably in his bed, and Dean can guess many reasons why. He definitely isn't used to all this praise, and revisiting his last year at Hogwarts must be horribly painful. Seamus closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

'The thing is, because Seamus was really outspoken and so, so… fearless, he was always in trouble. That's why he was always more beaten up than the others. The first time Seamus had detention with the Carrows, it was because of me. I guess one morning I wouldn't shut up as usual, and I had been talking about how a neighbour of mine had disappeared over the summer for no apparent reason. I was telling one of my friends that I suspected my neighbour didn't just go on vacation, and that he'd been kidnapped. Well. Alecto overheard me, and she nearly Crucioed me right there. Seamus stopped her by distracting her with petty insults, the kind that always wound her up. She totally forgot about me and that night after detention, Shay came back to the common room with open sores all over his arms and bruises on his face. I suspect they burned him with something, though he never told me.' Winnie looks at Seamus, a sad and pained look in her eyes. Shay lowers his, nodding slowly. Dean breathes in sharply; did they really burn and hit a student? It sounds completely inhumane, though he knows they did.

'After that, I stuck to Seamus like glue. I was like a little lost puppy. When we weren't in classes, he never let me out of his sight. He told me it was because I reminded him so much of himself, and that he didn't want me to end up like him. I never understood that. I still don't. You were my role model, Shay. Of course I wanted to turn out like you.' A tear runs down Seamus' face as he shakes his head vigorously.

'No. You don't know what I've become. _I_ don't know what I've become,' he says. Winnie frowns, but doesn't say anymore on the subject, probably saving it for later.

'That was only the first of many cruel punishments. He never told me half of what happened behind the door of the Carrows' shared office, and I didn't ask. I was too afraid. One night, I think it was in December, he came back to Gryffindor tower worse than he'd ever been before. It wasn't that there were more visible cuts and bruises. I remember that at the time, the whip marks on his back were still healing and he couldn't walk properly.' Blaise gasps at the word _whip_. 'It wasn't that though, it was different. He had a weird, almost blank look in his eyes, and when I asked him what was wrong he told me to go to bed because it was late. I refused, partly because Germaine Raddison snored like a pig in my room, but mostly because I really wanted to help Seamus like he helped me. He ended up telling me that the Carrows had tried something new on him that night. See, around that time they'd pretty much given up making up excuses to hurt Shay—they were doing it just for fun. And that night, their idea of fun was forcing Seamus to Crucio Colin Creevey. And then the week after that, it was Lavender.' She shivers, her voice trembling. Gazing at Seamus, Dean sees that his friend is now openly crying, though he tries very hard to stay silent.

'In between classes and detention, Seamus would talk to me about you, Dean. About his family and his home and Quidditch too, but mostly about you. He told me all about the first time you visited him in Ireland and how he nearly set fire to your paintbrushes when you said you didn't feel like going swimming again. He told me about your crazy love for football, and he described what you looked like. I knew so much about you, I felt like I knew you. Dean, I know that you like your coffee with two sugars and one milk and that you absolutely hate wearing socks because you claim it's restricting to your toes. He told me everything.' Dean grins fondly at the thought of Seamus recounting all their adventures to the then-little Irish redhead.

_All our adventures?_

'And then Dean, he told me… he told me about your first kiss. But I wasn't the only one who heard,' she murmurs sadly. Dean closes his eyes, afraid of what she's going to say next.

'I did? What first kiss?' Seamus asks incredulously, pulling his hand roughly away from Dean's. 'I don't understand.'

_Oh. _Dean tries to stop the tears from falling, but soon they are welling up and they flow freely, salty and painful. Seamus doesn't remember anything. He'd suspected it, of course, but he'd desperately hoped it wasn't true. Dean buries his face in his hands dejectedly.

'Wha—' Winnie starts, but Blaise shuts her up with a single look.

'I thought our first k-kiss was the other day,' Seamus says, almost angrily. Dean takes a raking breath and raises his eyes to meet Shay's.

'Fourth year. After… after the Yule Ball,' he says, trembling. Seamus breathes in sharply and Dean can only imagine what is going on in his mind; the hundreds of questions that he will surely have to answer later.

'Guys, let her finish her story,' Blaise says uncomfortably. He looks pointedly at the young girl sitting in the chair beside him. She stays silent for another few seconds, looking at Seamus then at Dean, clearly confused.

'Okay... well... As I was saying, I wasn't the only one who heard. No. Crabbe and Goyle did, too, and you know how they are. Or were, in Crabbe's case. In the absence of Malfoy, they told the next best thing.'

'The Carrows,' Blaise breathes. Winnie nods miserably.

'That night, when Seamus came back from detention, he really wasn't himself. It's not just that he didn't want to tell me what happened. He couldn't. No one understood it, not me or Lavender or Neville or Ginny. I knew that the Carrows had done something truly awful, but what, no one would ever know. They weren't going to tell, and Shay couldn't. These detentions didn't happen often; only once a month or so, until we finally took refuge in the Room of Requirement. Each time, he'd come back more lost and.. and blank, almost. And after that first night, he never said your name again. I didn't know if it was just out of fear or-'

Suddenly, Blaise jumps up and starts pacing, seeming to understand something. 'Or something else,' he mutters, nodding. The others just stare at him, wondering what has gotten into him. He stops, turns to look at Seamus and gasps without really seeing the sick man. . 'Oh no... oh no, oh no, oh no...'

'Blaise, what's wrong!' Dean is frightened. What has his friend thought of that is so awful?

'I don't know yet... I'm going to go... ask Dorothée... I need to... run some tests,' he says, deep in thought. He runs off without another word, leaving Bronwyn, Seamus and Dean in shock.

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**a) This will be the last one for a bit, since this week and next is absolutely crazy because of exams and projects and aaaahhhh. I know what's going to happen next in my mind, just finding the time to write it down is going to be hard. **

**b) I really want you guys to get this image that Seamus has almost like a split-personality. On one side, he is completely normal. He is funny and happy and excitable and flirty and just a proper little leprechaun. But on the other side, he really is broken, in the worst sense of the word. I'm not sure if I'm getting the idea across right. Also that Dean and Seamus are two grown men. They aren't kids at Hogwarts anymore, and seeing Seamus crying would be like seeing your father crying or something. It's strange (which I think is wrong because why can't men cry? But that's a whole other story... Hm, inspiration...). **

**c) Y'all might have guessed what's wrong with Seamus by now...**

**d) lovely-sweety, you are awesome.**

**e) Reviews are always appreciated, of course.**

**f) Just so everyone knows I needed to say the alphabet out loud to do this. And I have nothing to put here other than that. **

**g) Hugs and butterfly kisses, Karo**


	14. The Last Something That Meant Anything

yeah just procrastinating, you know how it is. here. enjoy.

xo, karo

(HEY IT RHYMES!)

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Winnie isn't used to silence. Usually when she is with anybody (especially Seamus), the air is filled with bright words and voices, and so right now she finds the lack of conversation to be very awkward. Dean is still wiping his leaking eyes with his sleeve, which Winnie thinks even stranger because she's hardly ever seen a man cry before. Dean cries noiselessly and Seamus can barely look at him for reasons Bronwyn doesn't yet understand. Maybe Dean does, because he isn't asking Seamus why he is so clearly fuming with anger. Winnie doesn't know what to say to ease the heavy tension.

'So…' she starts, but she doesn't even begin her sentence. Seamus looks at her awkwardly, as if he'd forgotten she was there. He says nothing, and once more silence envelops their little corner. A woman across the ward cries out in pain suddenly, and it startles them.

'I'm sorry,' Dean murmurs quietly. Seamus' eyes focus on the trembling man beside him, narrowing.

'Why didn't you say anything?' he says, bristling. Dean sighs and wipes away the last of his salty tears.

'I thought you knew. I thought you didn't want me to talk about it.' Dean's voice is soft, but pained. Winnie feels as though she is watching a muggle film and nearly says it aloud, but realizes that now is probably not the time to joke. Instead, she sits back and watches the men interestedly.

'Why would you think that?'

'When I left that summer… well, we didn't part on the best of terms. You wanted me to go for my safety, and I didn't. We fought a lot. I thought that… I thought that you never speaking about _us_ was your way of breaking up with me.'

Seamus shakes his head. 'I couldn't _remember_. I still don't! For all I know, you could be making all this up right now,' he says.

'He's not,' Winnie says quickly, but shuts her mouth instantly when she sees Dean giving her a look that clearly says _leave us alone_. 'Fine, I'll go. Granda should be up by now anyway. I'll come back later.' She exits, her red curls swishing behind her, leaving the two ex-lovers somewhat alone. There are still other patients in the ward, but Dean draws the curtain with a small flick of his wand to give them the illusion of privacy.

'I wasn't sure if you remembered or not, Shay,' Dean says. Seamus flinches at the nickname, spoken so naturally, and Dean feels as if he's been slapped in the face.

'Jesus Murphy, Dean, why didn't you just ask me?' Seamus' voice isn't quite so angry anymore, but rather frustrated.

'Because it hurt too much, don't you get it? We were together for almost three years—that's not something you can just throw away and forget about! Except you did, and I couldn't. I thought that if I helped you enough, if I stayed by your side, you'd realize that I still wanted you. How was I to know that you didn't even figure that I was capable of wanting you at all? Fuck, Seamus, it hurt so badly. Hadn't I meant anything to you at all? How could you just ignore me like that, after everything we'd been through? I wanted to give up on you, but I couldn't. You were sick. You _are_ sick, for Godric's sake. I needed to take care of you, and I still do.' Dean can hardly stop himself from yelling. He just wants Seamus to see it from his point of view.

'I'm not a kid, Dean,' Seamus says coldly. He looks dangerous.

'That's worse. You can't tell a grown man that it's going to be okay like you can to a child because you both know it's not true.'

Seamus crosses his arms and shifts so he can face Dean more comfortably. He is positively glaring at the artist, and his eyes appear even greener in his anger.

'You lied to me,' he says.

_I lied to myself._

'I specifically asked you about the Yule Ball and you lied. You said nothing happened.'

'Don't you see? I didn't want to remind you only so you could laugh and reject me. I couldn't believe you didn't remember something as important as our _first kiss_, I try not to think about the Ball so much.'

'I wouldn't have rejected you.'

'You getting mad now or then, what difference does it make?' He bites his lip and shakes his head, smiling sadly.

'Three years, Dean. You've kept this from me for three fucking years. This is a huge chunk of my past!'

'I thought _you _were keeping it from _me_ on purpose! What if I had told you and you got angry and disgusted and left because I still wasn't over you? Where would you have gone then? Lavender's? Her flat is too small for you as well as Cormac. Would you have gone back home to Ireland? Your mum is too old to take care of you. I couldn't risk pushing you away, Shay. There's nowhere else for you to go.' Dean is standing now, breathing heavily and shaking. He doesn't remember getting up.

Seamus barks out a bitter, mocking laugh. 'Is that the only reason? To keep me _safe_?'

Oh, he understands Dean only too well.

'That… and I didn't want to be away from you again. That year apart nearly killed me emotionally, almost like it did to you. I can't let you go, Seamus. We were so _good _together. I didn't want to lose that, even if I only had a sick, twisted version of it.' His voice is pleading for Seamus to understand.

'Were we in love?'

The artist nods miserably.

'I'm gay?'

Dean's eyes fly open and he looks incredulously at his friend, an eyebrow raised. He snorts.

'Are you kidding? You used to be the most flaming flamer that ever flamed. You came out at the age of seven, for Godric's sake. How could you not know?'

'Hm. I just never felt any attraction towards anybody, male or female. I never even thought about it until now.'

'But you kissed me the other night,' Dean says matter-of-factly. He won't let Seamus forget it; he hasn't stopped thinking about it since it happened.

'Ah, that's the kicker. It was kind of spontaneous, you know? Spur of the moment. It felt good though.' Seamus says the last bit mostly to himself, as if he's just realizing it now as a delayed reaction. He turns his attention back to Dean, who is looking at him like he's completely lost his mind.

'Of course it _felt good_. Do you know how long I waited for that? How happy I was that you remembered? I was ecstatic. It felt _wonderful_.'

'How did you do it? Three years is a long time.'

'Day by day. Lots of wanking. It would have been much easier if I hadn't been around you all the time, but I couldn't just abandon you.'

'Thank you,' Seamus says quietly. Suddenly, Dean's exhaustion hits him like a train; it is long overdue. He's been awake for days, not napping even once, and now he struggles to keep his eyes open. He yawns and wonders briefly if Blaine is going to return soon, but the errant thought flits away as quickly as it came.

'I'm going to sleep for a bit. Wake me up in a few hours.' He collapses into the nearest uncomfortable chair is ready to fall into sleep when he hears words through a thick, sleepy haze. 'Wha?' he mumbles.

'Come on, then. Get in.' Seamus is holding up his thin sheets in invitation and Dean smiles sleepily, stumbling to the bed. He slips in clumsily, not even bothering to take his shoes off; he is much too tired. 'I'm not forgiving you just yet,' he hears distantly, but he doesn't have to strength to acknowledge the words. He presses himself to Seamus' warm and familiar body, hugging him tightly like a teddy bear. He is soon unconscious, falling fast into a deep, dreamless, contented sleep. This is so much better than nothing.


	15. Time Isn't Healing

**I'm sorry it's been so looooong :(**

**Anyway, here you go. I have the next five chapters typed up too so you won't have to wait too long for them. **

**xo, karo**

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'Awh, look at them!'

'I don't know if they should be—'

'Lighten up, Zabini! Aren't they just so cute sleeping there? Seamus told me that the first—'

'No, you don't get it, Winnie. I'm serious. How long have they been there?'

'All night. I left when—'

'All night? Shit. Seamus, Dean. Get up. Seamus! Wake up!'

'M'awake,' Seamus says blearily. His eyes flicker open and focus on Blaise's concerned face above his. Winnie is hovering somewhere behind him, and Seamus can see her red head peering over. Dean is still asleep and wrapped around him like a cocoon. If it wasn't for the striking contrast of their skin tones, you wouldn't be able to tell whose limbs are whose. Seamus tries to disentangle himself carefully, trying not to wake the other man. He shakes himself, dimly remembering Blaise's words to Winnie.

'What doesn't she get? Why am I awake this early? Wait, what time is it?' he asks, rubbing his eyes. Dean grunts when he realizes that he isn't hugging anybody anymore, and he rolls over sleepily, his arms blindly reaching out for Seamus.

'Wake up, you handsome brute. I'm right here,' Seamus says, poking Dean in the ribs.

Blaise glances at his expensive-looking gold watch. 'It's 9 :30,' he says.

'We 'ave some breakfast,' says another female voice from behind the others, and a little brunette comes into view. ''Ere,' Dorothée says. There are two trays floating before her, laden with disgusting-looking food.

'Er, thanks,' Seamus says as the trays zoom over to the bed and land on their laps with a clatter.

'Winnie, what are you still doing here? Why aren't you with your grandfather? He should be released by now'' Dean says. He eyes the breakfast plates cautiously, picking up a small sausage with his fingers. He takes a bit, chewing thoughtfully. It's as if he's trying to decide what it tastes like. The young Gryffindor shrugs.

'I convinced him to let me come back to see Shay.' Winnie smiles.

'I explained about everything that's been happening and about the tests we've been doing, Seamus. I didn't think you would mind,' Blaise says, shaking his head vigorously when Dean offers him a greasy and gray slice of bacon.

'Nah, I don't. She deserves to know.' Winnie beams at Seamus, advancing so he can see her fully.

'So, what's up?' Dean asks before taking a big bite of sausage and swalling painfully. Seamus smirks and Dean shoots him a dirty look. 'Mind out of the gutter, Finnigan.'

'You know me too well.' Seamus sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes.

'Well… Dorothée and I did some research last night. We think we might have found out what's wrong with you,' Blaise says nervously. Dean doesn't know why the Healer is fidgeting like this; this can't mean anything good.

'Mmph!' Seamus' eyes bulge and he attempts to swallow his food but starts choking and sluttering. Dean hits him hard on the back and Seamus coughs violently.

'I'm okay. Went down the wrong hole.' Winnie snickers. 'Mind out of the gutter, O'Neil,' Seamus says dryly. He doesn't smile, and neither does Dean. This is serious.

'Tell us everything you've found out,' Dean says quietly. Winnie instantly sobers and Seamus sits up, pressing himself closer to Dean for support. Suddenly, he gasps.

'Wait! Does this have anything to do with the Carrows?'

'It has everything to do with the Carrows,' Blaise says, clearly confused as to why it matters.

'Then what about—'

'—Ron and Harry,' Dean finishes at the same time as Seamus. He tightens his grip on the Irishman's waist.

''Arry Potter? And Ron Weasley? Why?' asks Dorothée. She has, without a doubt, heard the stories of the heros' exploits, just like everyone else in the wizarding world. She raises an eyebrow at Dean and Seamus, who open their mouths at the same time.

'They came to our flat a few weeks ago to ask questions about the Carrows,' Dean starts.

'They need to find the twins and then convict them,' says Seamus. Blaise bites his lip, looking at Healer Bourgeois. The young woman just shrugs her shoulders and says something in rapid french. Blaise nods and Winnie looks at them as if they've just grown a second head.

'We can owl them after. But… it's complicated,' Blaise says. 'How about you get dressed and we go to my office? It'll be more comfortable.' He looks around their minuscule curtained corner. Sighing impatiently, Seamus nods and reaches over to the small table beside his bed where his jeans and shirt are resting. It seems that at some point during his feverous delirium, the old Healer Edderton changed him into some hospital-provided pyjamas, but no one had noticed until now. Seamus pulls on his thin t-shirt and slowly gets out of bed in order to slip on his raggedy jeans. He totters around the bed to Dean, now standing, all the while shaking dangerously. He hasn't been out of bed for days after all, and Dean puts an arm around Seamus' shoulders to steady and calm him.

'Okay, let's go,' Seamus says, looking up at Dean for reassurance. They set off at a very slow pace, but no one minds except for Winnie. She is practically bouncing off the walls with pent-up energy, and Dean can't help but chuckle at the sight of her.

'Just like Seamus,' he murmurs, barely audible.

'Hm?'

'Nothing, Shay. Nothing.'

Eventually they reach a plain white door with the number 476 on it, and Blaise pushes it open with a dark, lean hand. The interior is as boring and lifeless as Dean remembers it, and the beige couch Blaise conjures out of thin air does nothing to brighten the atmosphere. He nods toward the new sofa and Seamus stumbles to it, Dean and Winnie following him. Dorothée stands primly by Blaise's neat desk, a clipboard clutched to her chest.

'Like I said, it's complicated,' Blaise says as he takes his seat behind the desk. He runs a hand through his short hand awkwardly and takes a deep breath. He waits until everyone is settled, shifting anxiously. Dean's never seen him this nervous; it can't be a good sign.

'It's spell damage,' Blaise says finally.

'Do you know what spell?' Winnie asks, her green eyes enormous and unblinking.

'Spells. Dere's more den one,' Dorothée says as she pushes the clipboard in front of him.

'At first we thought the reason Seamus couldn't remember things was due to a sort of self-preservation; that your brain was blocking out painful memories so they didn't destroy you. That theory fit to a certain point, but it didn't explain the visions and nightmares you were having or why the memory loss kept happening.' Seamus nods, his light brows furrowed. 'Then, we thought that you were actually going insane because of the sheer amount of Cructiatus curses you endured that last year—more than anyone else at Hogwarts, it seems. But that was the problem. You weren't going crazy, not really. It's more like you were bipolar, or had a split-personality, but not quite. If we took you as you are now, we'd see that you're perfectly normal and not insane at all. The other part of you was unstable, but you were still you, even during the times where your mind blanked or you saw yourself back with the Carrows. There was no proper explanation for that. Only strong emotions would set you off—feelings of pain or loneliness, bad memories, the like—which didn't fit our Cruciatus theory because there was a _pattern_ to your madness. That made us think that you weren't mad at all.'

'He's always been crazy,' Winnie says, winking. Seamus offers her a weak smile.

'Go on,' he says.

'Then Dorothée mentioned that it could be a memory charm gone wrong, and that the nightmares and such were really just residue from the war. It could have been an Obliviation that backfired, like—well, like our old Professor Lockhart, though milder. We went on that for a while, but still we couldn't understand why only certain memories were hidden and not others. Specifically, the memories including Dean.'

'But I remember plenty of things about Dean.'

Dean suspects Seamus knows what his Healer means though.

'I meant memories including Dean as… more than a friend,' Blaise says softly. Seamus' head turns instantaneously to Dean, anger once more painted on his face.

'You told Blaise,' he seethes, 'but not me.'

'I had to. Can we talk about this later?'

Seamus casts another withering look of contempt Dean's way before returning his attention to Blaise, who seems distressed and jumpy.

'We didn't get it,' Blaise says. 'When we applied certain theories, they always fit some of your symptoms but not others. The IQ and memory tests you took told us that you were totally fine, but you told us otherwise. You're just as smart as you were Before. You had no problem remembering most things, it's just you couldn't access certain memories. Nothing made sense.' Blaise closes his eyes. 'Nothing made sense until last night. When Winnie told us about the way you were tortured, by being forced to hurt other people, I knew that it explained the dreams and hallucinations. You feel guilty about what you had to do, and that guilt is gnawing away at your mind.'

'Sounds about right,' Seamus says breathily, quietly.

'And what about the memories?' asks Dean, trying hard not to sound too impatient.

'I'm so sorry, Seamus,' Blaise whispers, his head now in his hands. No one speaks, waiting for him to continue. Dean sees Dorothée bite her lips and flit her eyes anxiously toward Blaise.

'Dumbledore once called it the fourth Unforgiveable,' he says. 'The Detrutus Curse.'


	16. This Is How I Disappear

**More!**

**Reviews are always welcome, as you know.**

**xoxoxoxoxo, karolyn**

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'The what?'

Blaise has just told Seamus what curse had been used on him by the Carrows during his seventh year, and he is met by confused and frightened stares by everyone but Dorothée.

'The Detrutus Curse,' he repeats.

'I've never heard of it,' says Dean.

'No, you wouldn't have, though it was outlawed only about 100 years ago, and by Dumbledore too. Our old headmaster seemed to have really hated the curse… he removed every single book that mentioned it from the library, even the ones in the Restricted Section. He forbade the teachers to speak of it in any classroom. No one really knows why he was so against this particular spell, but some people have theories.' He smirks faintly. 'As a result of his strong hatred toward the curse, not many wizards alive today have heard of it.'

'What does it do?' Winnie breathes. Seamus seems too scared to speak.

'Well, to put it bluntly, it curses the gay out of you.'

Winnie gasps, Dean lowers his head into his hands and Seamus blinks blankly, as if refusing to believe it. He looks steadily at Blaise.

'I don't understand.'

'The spell isn't like the other Unforgiveables. It requires skill and confrontation. It's closer to the Imperius than the others—anyone can Cruico if they want it badly enough. The Detrutus is hard though. It takes a lot of practice. That's probably another reason why it's never been as popular as the other three.'

Seamus' eyes alone betray the horror and turmoil within him.

'In the past, the curse was used mostly by rich, pureblooded families whose children were homosexual, transgender or anything else out of the norm. If you were gay, you couldn't carry on the family name, right? Still, not many people knew of the spell, but that homophobic mentality spread and soon other people were using the curse, or milder versions of it. Have you ever heard of electro-shock therapy, like the kind Muggles used on gay people?'

Dean nods, shock and revulsion apparent on his face.

'The premise is the same: to change a person's sexuality or way of thinking. The curse is powerful. If done properly, it lasts forever and that's another way it differs from the Unforgiveables. There's no cure for the Detrutus, except breaking out of it yourself. Fighting the bonds. You did that.' Blaise looks pointedly at Seamus, and then nods toward Dean without removing his eyes from his patient.

'I did?'

'Not consciously, but you were forcing yourself to recover those lost memories and by doing that, you cracked the cement, that's where your headache came from. When you kissed Dean, you broke free from the curse. Your brain wasn't used to that kind of liberty so it fought back, thinking itself under attack. That was the final blow to the curse. I'm not completely positive, but I think that if you wanted to, you could kiss Dean right now and not feel any pain or resistance.'

Neither Dean nor Seamus move, and Winnie looks at them disappointedly.

'I don't think the Carrows had any specific reason for cursing you like that; they just did it for fun. They had, or have rather, the old-fashioned, pureblood mentality, stupid and disgusting as they are. After the Detrutus, they used targeted memory charms on you so you'd forget everything about Dean and you being anything other than straight friends. Then, of course, more charms so you'd never remember that they ever did it to you at all.'

Seamus sits back and closes his eyes, teardrops gathering on his long lashes. Dean still has his head in his trembling hands as if still trying to absorb everything and Winnie has pulled her legs to her chest and is rocking back in forth in a tight ball. Blaise takes deep, shuddering breaths, like he is trying not to cry.

'Hold on,' Dean says suddenly. He sits up straight, and Blaise blinks at him dazedly. 'You said the spell was immensely difficult. If the Carrows are that incompetent and thick, they couldn't have cast the spells. They needed someone else to do it.' The Healer bites his lip. 'Someone talented and smart… that could be anyone.'

'That's why I said it was complicated.'

Seamus' forest eyes flicker open to stare at Blaise; Blaise the Healer, Blaise their friend, Blaise the Slytherin.

'Or it could be someone smart enough to become one of the best Healers in the country by the age of 20,' he says dully.

'What are you saying?' cries Winnie. She looks wildly from Seamus to Blaise and back again, her volumous red curls flying about her face. Seamus doesn't answer and Dean's eyes narrow with suspicion, repugnance, and above all, fury. Dorothée, whom everyone had forgotten was in the office, takes a step back from her partner and mentor, looking aghast and terrified.

Then, a whisper, laden with remorse and pain.

'I'm so, so sorry.'


	17. Misguided Ghosts

No one moves. No one says anything. Dean is so angry and confused he can barely open his mouth to speak, so instead he just gapes silently at Blaise and trembles with rage. Seamus is crying now, softly, silently, not touching Dean nor Winnie as if the slightest brush could destroy him. Curling herself up in an even tighter ball, Winnie has stopped rocking and seems, for once, at a loss for words. Dorothée is pacing nervously, obviously distraught and horrified at the idea that her mentor is capable of being so cruel. She is the one who finally breaks the silence, what seems like hours after Blaise speaks.

''Ow could you?' she says faintly in that strange accent of hers. She runs a hand through her dark bangs nervously and stops pacing to look directly at Blaise. He still has his head buried in his strong, big, graceful hands—hands that are capable of hurting as well as healing. Dorothée pulls her wand out cautiously.

'I was a coward.' Blaise's voice is hoarse. 'You don't understand. It was their way of torturing me. I was one of the only Slytherins who didn't support You-Know-Who.'

Seamus is trembling so violently that Dean can feel the couch shake with him.

'You could have run away. I did,' Dean spits harshly.

'I was a coward!'

'You still are.'

'You knew this whole time?' Seamus whispers, not trusting his voice at all. Blaise says nothing, only lowers his eyes in shame.

'Answer him! This whole time, you were just fucking with us? You knew all along what was wrong and yet you lied and let Seamus be used like a lab rat?' Dean's words drip with venom.

'No! I… They cast a memory charm on me too.'

'You asshole! Stop lying!' Dean yells. He gets up without thinking and advances to Blaise's desk, breathing and hard and looking down dangerously at his once-friend.

'I'm not lying! I wouldn't do that to you.'

'You did _this_ to me,' says Seamus. He gestures at his temple, clearly meaning the damage found within. His voice is louder now, as if he has drawn strength from Dean's anger.

'They forced me!' Blaise exclaims defensively, pleadingly.

'How? I'll bet they didn't use the Imperius,' Winnie says.

'No, they wanted me to feel the pain. They threatened to kidnap my mother instead. Turns out she was already dead.' Blaise laughs bitterly and without humour.

'I wouldn't have done it to you,' says Seamus.

'Well aren't you just a bloody hero? You don't get it—they were going to torture me anyway because I didn't want to help them punish others. Because I don't really care if your blood is pure or blue or whatever. I was going to lose either way. I'm a Slytherin to the core—ambitious, clever, arrogant and all about self-preservation. I'm not afraid to say it. But I couldn't pretend to be something I don't believe in. It would have been easier probably, but that meant that Seamus wouldn't be the only one they'd destroyed like this. They Cruicoed me too, you know. I was the only Slytherin to get that treatment, and then they told me that I had to learn the Detrutus Curse if I wanted them to stop hurting me. I even had someone to practice on, imagine that! But I wouldn't do it until they told me they'd take my mother hostage, and I couldn't deal with that. They didn't tell me that they'd already killed her months before, and for the same reasons they were torturing me.' Blaise snarls the last sentence then stops to sigh and shake himself. He meets Dean's eyes; they are so hard to read.

'So you practiced on me,' Seamus says. Dean turns to look at the man, and Seamus can't decipher the gaze either.

'They told me that they had jobs for me after I graduated. Jobs involving the curse, no doubt, but I planned to run away and save my mother before then. I just had to hang tight, not get Crucioed anymore… and practice on you. And then, after the Battle—I fought on your side!—Amycus cornered me and cast a memory charm before disappearing with his sister. But he wasn't good at it, like I've said, and the charm sort of… broke.'

Dean glowers at Blaise, anger and pain from the sting of betrayal still radiating from his tense body.

'When?' he snaps.

'Last night. But it was poorly cast and… and there was always something there, in the back of my mind… Just a little quiet nagging that I didn't really pay attention to…' Dean huffs furiously, punching the desk. He is angrier than Seamus at this point. 'I'm just being honest!' Blaise pleads.

'For the first time…' Dean mutters before turning his back on Blaise and walking to the sofa, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. He sits down abruptly. Seamus watches him, a wild, frightened look on his face. Dean sees Seamus looking so lost and wants to hug him and never let go, but he remembers the matter at hand and settles for giving the smaller, clammy hand resting beside his a tight squeeze.

'But magic always leaves a trace,' Dorothée says weakly. 'If it was you who cursed Monsieur Finnigan, den why didn't you recognize your own magic in his mind?'

Blaise bows his head. 'I have no right answer for that question.'

'Then give us the wrong answer,' Dean says.

'Because I didn't want to search too hard and I gave Dorothée the job of identifying magic for a reason? Because I knew that if I really looked I'd find something I'd been hiding from for years? I didn't know what exactly, but some demon was waiting to find me in Seamus' mind… And above all, because I am a horrible, selfish and cowardly person?'

'Don't blame me for this,' Dorothée says defensively.

'I'm blaming myself.'

'You know what… just… how do I make the memories come back?' Seamus says wearily, rubbing his forehead as if he has another headache.

'Are you okay?' Dean says as Winnie exclaims 'You're letting this go?'

'Yes, I'm fine, and no, just for now. I'm tired and I want to go home. Please. How do they come back?'

'It depends,' says Dorothée slowly.

'On what?'

'The charm itself, mostly—'ow powerful it was, 'ow long since it's been cast. It also depends on the caster…' She leaves the sentence hanging in the heavy, uncomfortable air, and stares at her partner.

'You know I'd reverse the charm if I could,' Blaise says, his voice muffled by his hands.

'No, I don't know anything about you anymore,' snarls Dean.

'Why can't you?' asks Winnie.

'Because I don't remember the specific spells used.'

'Goddamnit, try!' Dean yells. He squeezes Seamus' hand unconsciously and Shay whimpers at the sudden strong pressure. 'Oh, sorry,' Dean mumbles, now rubbing his lover's hand with his thumb. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.

'It's not there. The charm used on me was so bad it destroyed the memory completely, at least from what I can tell,' Blaise says. He looks defeated and pathetic and his words are monotone. 'I've studied Lockhart before. It's nearly the same thing.'

'Then what the fuck do I do.' Seamus sounds just as dead as his Healer.

'Wait. Dey might come back, but please don't force yourself too much,' Dorothée says gently. 'We don't want anoder headache.'

'Migraine,' Seamus corrects her. The woman shrugs before shooting another infuriated glare to Blaise. 'You can go if you want,' she says to Dean, Seamus and Winnie. The redhead stands up first, offering her hands to the men. They get up with her help and exit the office without another word.


	18. Cause and Effect

**Sorry it's been so long. I went on a trip to Europe and then some stuff happened at home but I'm sneaking on for this. It's short, I know, but there's more eventually.**

**xoxo**

* * *

'I wonder where Dorothée is from. Is that how you pronounce it? Door-oh-thay?' Seamus says once they arrive home, He heads for the bedroom as soon as they Apparate in, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

_Hasn't he gotten enough sleep? I'm the one who should be tired,_ Dean thinks.

'I don't know,' he says instead, following Seamus down the short and narrow corridor. 'Aren't you hungry?'

'I'm more tired than hungry. But first I need to go to the bathroom.'

Ten minutes later, Dean has extinguished all light and shut the curtains so the sun doesn't stream into the bedroom. It must be nearly noon.

_What a screwed up sleep schedule I have._

Seamus curls into Dean, his small body fitting perfectly. He rests his head in the crook of the dark neck beneath him and sighs, trying to forget.

'Shay…' Dean sounds weary; his rage from this morning has drained from his voice, leaving only exhaustion and an echo of anxiety and hurt.

'Mhm.'

'Are you okay?'

'No,' Seamus murmurs, breathing Dean in deeply. Throughout all the trials and tribulations that had faced them in the past three or four years, Dean still smells the same. Seamus remembers that at least. The memory of Dean's clean scent used to keep him awake at night during his seventh year, even more than the agonizing pain of his open wounds and the confusion and blankness that always consumed him after certain detentions. It was Dean's scent, and Dean's laughter, and sometimes Dean as he lay on his bed, sketching an apple absently. It was playing one-on-one Quidditch in the field behind his Ireland home and it was eating Honeyduke's sweets in the common room together after a trip to Hogsmeade. It was those things that had kept Seamus awake during long, terrifying nights spent in Gryffindor tower, because those things, and so much more, helped Seamus forget his misery and despair. Some nights, he'd even feared that once he fell asleep, it would be forever. He'd needed to be kept conscious.

'I'm sorry I left you,' Seamus hears Dean say, and he has to smile bitterly at those pained words.

'You never really did.'


	19. Breakeven

The pillows are wet when Dean wakes up alone in Seamus' bed. The tears aren't his, and the man who shed them is nowhere to be found. He isn't in the living room, nor in the small kitchen. His coat is gone. Dean doesn't bother searching for him elsewhere, in the city; Seamus could be anywhere. Their owl is gone, so Dean can't send a message to Lavender or Neville. They have no fireplace either, but Dean doesn't even want to find Seamus. Shay _is_ a grown man. He'll find his way back. He probably just needs to think, to have some space. The idea sounds appealing to Dean too.

Dean slowly dressed and makes supper for himself, lost in nearly forgotten memories and abandoned parts of his mind.

As he pushes some chicken around in a pan, he sees Seamus sitting with him on a bench outside during the Yule Ball, and Dean is thinking that Seamus is maybe possibly the most beautiful person he's ever seen, including the French girls, but that's wrong because Shay is a bloke so it's probably not okay to think that…

Now they are 15-year-olds, lying in Dean's bed in Gryffindor Tower, with Seamus resting halfway on top of his lover, murmuring '_I'll miss you this summer._' And Dean can't answer because his voice would crack and men don't cry, so instead he presses a soft kiss to Seamus' sweaty blond hair.

'_They're going to fucking kill you!' _and oh no, Dean is crying, his stepfather always told him that men shouldn't cry… and _'I don't want to leave you alone,_' then '_I can take care of myself, Dean,_' and the tears keep falling. They feel so wrong…

Then Seamus is standing before him, broken so badly but still there and solid and real and _'Seamus, I've missed you_…' But the battle begins and Dean loses track of Seamus, _fuck what if he's dead he can't die I just found him again fuck fuck fuck…_

And then sweet lips against his and everything is perfect and glorious and he's waited so long, '_Happy birthday, Dean…'_

Dean burns his food.


	20. It's Not Over

**Warnings: sex. But know that I'm horrible at writing smut so it doesn't actually describe anything. You can skip it if you want.**

* * *

It's not dark when Dean looks out the window later, but only because of the unnatural light from the shining city spread out around him. The night sky seems dirty and pathetic, and Dean feels that way too. Seamus hasn't come home yet, and the clock says that it's past three in the morning. Dean is restless. He tries to watch the telly, but he can't focus on the programmes, his mind constantly drifting off far away. He needs something, anything, to anchor him to reality, so he grabs a week-old Prophet and begins doing the crossword. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Seamus is there, panting and smelling strongly of vodka. He's Apparated directly before Dean, who is sitting on the sofa with the paper in his hands.

'Seamus!' Dean exclaims. 'You're drunk!' And Seamus doesn't answer, only takes the crossword away from Dean and throws it roughly to the floor. He advances, falling atop Dean. His eyes are wild and animal, and his breath reeks of sweet liquor. Without warning, Seamus attacks Dean with his lips, kissing the other man hungrily, desperately. He drives his tongue into Dean's mouth almost in an angry manner and cups the dark, handsome face with shaking hands. _This is wrong,_ Dean somehow manages to think,_ he's had too much to drink…_ Dean uses all his might to push the intoxicated man away from him.

'What are you doing?' he whispers, keeping a tight hold on Seamus' shoulders.

'When I'm drunk, I remember,' Seamus says in a soft voice not matching his feral look. 'I remember our first kiss, like this—' Seamus brings Dean's face to his and kissing him tenderly and sweetly. He pulls away slightly to murmur, his accent slurred and messy, 'And I remember our first time, like this—' Now Seamus depends the kiss, holding it for as long as he possibly can. He wraps his arms around Dean's neck, one hand fisting Dean's dark, coarse hair and the other pulling them even closer together. It is effortless and sensual and Dean doesn't bother stifling his moan when Seamus kisses his way down Dean's neck, sucking and nipping all the sensitive spots that were so nearly forgotten for good. 'And I remember when you had to go, but you didn't want to, did you?' Seamus says. He kisses Dean again for a long time and it's so good, and it _tastes_ so good, like vodka and sweat and Seamus, and _Oh God_ he's missed this, was it ever this good Before? It feels better.

'But when I'm sober,' he hears Seamus say between kisses, 'it's gone.' Dean can barely make out the words over the sound of his heart, beating and aching for more. 'It's all gone.' Dean cries out at the sudden loss of contact because Seamus is unstraddling him now, and is getting up, breathless and shaking. He isn't steady on his feet, but he grabs Dean's hand anyway and pulls him towards the nearest bedroom; Dean's.

Seamus directs Dean to the bed and wastes no time in undressing them both. He pushes the other man down roughly, falling alongside him and bringing Dean's wanton need to his, running graceful fingers over the dark pink, sensitive scars lining the arched back.

Oh, Dean has missed this so much, this beautiful, sweaty, intense dance they're doing, and when he cries out in wanting, nearly sobbing with desire, he is silenced by an eager and hungry mouth. Seamus' fingers seem to be on fire for every touch leaves Dean burning, wanting more, needing more. How long has it been since they've done this? He can't remember anymore, and it doesn't even matter because this is Now and not Before, and right Now all that matters is black on white, Dean on Seamus. Seamus, Seamus, _Seamus_…

And then it's over, but not really because Dean knows it won't be the last time. They clean themselves and curl up beneath the warm blankets, wrapped in each other, intertwined like a knot. Dean pushes Seamus' dripping hair away from his face and even though the men are bathed in darkness Dean knows those green eyes are staring at him and truly shining for the first time in years.

'I'm sorry I'm drunk,' Seamus whispers, his voice hoarse and raspy.

'Me too.'

'But I remember now.'

'I never forgot,' Dean says into Seamus' neck, brushing his lips on the tender skin there. 'And I never stopped loving you,' he says, and he feels Seamus' body tense slightly. Dean almost regrets his words, but no; they speak the truth. He hugs Seamus' lithe body closer, inhaling deeply, until Seamus relaxes again. Soon, his breathing becomes regular and they sleep until the sun reaches its peak and begins its slow descent to the horizon once more.


	21. I Should Tell You

'Shay?' Dean calls out from the bed. He woke up just minutes ago to find that Seamus isn't here anymore and that his clothes, so hastily discarded last night, are gone. Dean sits up quickly, ignoring the lightheaded feeling he gets from moving too rapidly. He blinks in the sunlight streaming in from the small window.

'I'm here!' he hears, and breathes a sigh of relief. Smiling at the thought of breakfast—or lunch, it seems—with Seamus, he rolls out of bed and absentmindedly pulls on a pair of boxers. He walks out of the messy room and to the kitchen, beaming and rubbing a hand over his face. He enters, first spotting Seamus leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, then stops cold when his eyes drift to the kitchen table. Seated around it are Harry and Ron, both in work attire, Winnie, her emerald eyes wide at the sight of a half-naked Dean, and Blaise. They are all crammed around the small, round table, and Dean observes them, confusion apparent on his features. His gaze rests on Blaise suspiciously.

'Good morning,' Seamus says, smirking faintly and raising an eyebrow at Dean. 'Want some coffee?' he asks as he gestures to the pot behind him. It is nearly empty already. Dean gapes at him and nods before looking down at his naked chest.

'I'll just… go put some clothes on…' he mumbles. Ron nods vigorously, Harry grins, Blaise smirks knowingly and Winnie breathes a deep sigh of disappointment.

'You can look but you can't touch, Missy,' Dean hears Seamus say as he turns to go change. Within minutes, he is back, clad in old sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt. He pours himself some coffee. No one speaks, and he can feel their stares on his back.

'What are you all doing here?' Dean asks cautiously once he's done. He rests against the counter next to Seamus, and the short man smiles up at him reassuringly.

'I don't know, we just got an owl telling us to come,' Ron says and Harry nods.

'I just came to see how you were doing and met these guys on the way,' says Winnie, jerking her thumb toward the Aurors.

'Same as Potter and Weasley,' Blaise says quietly, his eyes cast downward.

'That was me,' Seamus says, moving closer to Dean. The height difference is quite comical; Seamus only reaches Dean's shoulder, and Winnie smiles hugely at them. 'I sent the owl. And it's just as well Winnie is here.'

'What's this about, then?' asks Harry. 'The Carrows?' He folds his hands in front of him and stares at Seamus. Ron's eyes flit rapidly from Winnie to Blaise.

'Yeah. Oh, by the way, Ron and Harry, this is Bronwyn O'Neil, fifth year Gryffindor. And you know Blaise Zabini.' Winnie waggles her fingers toward the Aurors, then flashes a dirty look at Blaise when he opens his mouth to speak. He glares at her.

'Are they here to arrest me?' he asks Seamus bluntly. Harry leans back in his chair thoughtfully as Ron tenses and furrows his brows. Dean can practically hear the questions tumbling through their minds.

'Not unless you don't explain everything to them.' Seamus sounds tired.

'Shay, you're not mad at him?' says Winnie incredulously.

'I'm furious, but I know he didn't want it to happen. It's not his fault. I'm only slightly ticked off at _him._'

'Well, I'm angry,' Dean mutters.

Seamus looks up and meets Dean's dark, unreadable eyes. 'I know you are,' he says softly.

'What the hell is going on here?' Ron asks, bewildered. He drums his fingers impatiently on the table.

'Zabini can explain,' Dean says harshly, crossing his arms. Blaise scrutinizes Dean, giving up trying to decipher him only seconds later. The Healer takes a deep breath and unconsciously pats his pocket to check for his wand's presence. Ron huffs impatiently. Finally, Blaise begins.

'Have you ever heard of the Detrutus Curse?'


End file.
